


Memories, Where'd You Go

by Rantaboutbees



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: F/M, M/M, Unrequited Love, a lot of unanswered questions, alcohol mention, kind of obscure stuff I guess, really off-canon but who cares about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 11:16:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8160247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rantaboutbees/pseuds/Rantaboutbees
Summary: How I miss yesterdayAnd how I let it fade away





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a super short little thing I thought of and wanted to get down. It took a turn away from what I had originally intended, and it's drastically different from all my other works, but I thought I might as well just post it. Hopefully you like it!

He so often wondered if it was all just a dream.

 

Some days he’d be convinced that it was. It was too perfect, too fairytale-like. That beautiful boy couldn’t exist in real life. Even if he did, such a boy wouldn’t like him. It just wasn’t possible.

 

But some days he’d be less sure. His memories would come suddenly, harshly. Vivid images of radiant brown eyes, soft hair, and gentle fingers. They’d burn so clear in his head that he could no longer believe it was made up. But the thoughts would fade quickly, and he was soon brought back to his doubts.

 

Some nights he’d wake up, thinking the boy was in the room with him. He’d stare at his arms, swearing up and down that he had felt someone lying in them. His fingers would still be ringing with the sensation of running through short, wispy hair.

 

Some days he’d stop in the doorway of his apartment, staring at the couch before him, certain that someone had just been sitting there. Someone he’d seen sitting there a hundred times over.

 

But it was only in his head, he’d convince himself. Just hallucinations.

 

Maybe he was going a little crazy.

 

For a while he would ask his friends if they knew anything about this boy. They all seemed reluctant to respond. He wondered if they thought he was going a little crazy. Maybe he was.

 

The sudden memories began to fade over time, but they never fully went away. Every time, it was just as jarring as the last.

 

He would feel soft lips on his own, just a fleeting moment of perfection. Fingers would lace with his, and he would look down and find nothing. In the middle of Winter, when the weather was at its angriest, he would sense the warmth of someone else. Then it would pass and he was left alone again, shivering against the cold.

 

Over the years, he became more and more bitter. The pleasant moments became less and less welcome. He felt himself growing more and more agitated with every occurrence, and his loved ones growing more and more concerned. Some days he would scream. Someone would touch him and he’d spin around to find no one, and he’d yell or cry or throw something.

 

One friend suggested he see someone.

 

He stopped talking to that friend.

 

He knew it was true, that something was wrong, but something in the back of his mind refused to accept it.

 

This damned boy didn’t exist.

 

He did end up seeing someone. He got himself a girlfriend.

 

He’d wake up in the middle of the night, feeling someone in his arms. This time, however, it would be real. This girl was in his arms, and the soft hair he felt between his fingers was hers.

 

He’d walk into his apartment and see her, sitting on that couch. He’d force away any unwanted thoughts and sit down next to her.

 

The soft lips he kissed were hers. She’d lace her fingers with his. She’d be his warmth in the Winter.

 

But it would still happen.

 

He’d wake up sobbing, but never knowing why.

 

The image of this boy would flash his head while he held his girlfriend close.

 

The moments became less frequent, yet less bearable.

 

It escalated.

 

At night he’d see him again and leave the apartment. He’d find himself sitting in front of a pint of beer with more empty glasses beside him. The deafening sounds of the bar blocked out everything in his head. He loved it more than anything else in the world.

 

He married that girl, just to try and prove that he could.

 

His friends became less concerned.

 

He stopped talking about him.

 

The alcohol helped him keep quiet.

 

Ten years.

 

Ten years since he could remember the thoughts coming to him.

 

He had gotten so much better at ignoring it, at suppressing it, at shutting it out with a little help.

 

It was at a party.

 

Just a nice little gathering. His wife had wanted him to go.

 

He had already drank some. He wasn’t ready.

 

He heard his name.  _ His _ name. Spoken from the mouth of someone he wasn’t close to.

 

_ Do you know him? _

 

Yes -- Yes, he knew him. He used to. Now he forgets all the time. But at least now he can be sure. The boy was real.

 

Suddenly, he didn’t want to be sure. As soon as the boy became real in his mind, so many other things became real as well. It wasn’t a fairytale.

 

He didn’t want to know the story. Because now, he could remember the ending.


End file.
